


Donnybrook

by cymraeg



Series: Donnybrook [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 07:09:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cymraeg/pseuds/cymraeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Donnybrook</i>: A usually public quarrel or dispute. A brawl or fracas; a scene of chaos.</p>
<p>Hawke gives Anders a piece of his mind after the events of "Alone."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Donnybrook

"Let's go. I need to get out of here," said Fenris. Shoulders hunched, he headed for the door of the Hanged Man, barely bothering to detour around Danarius' mangled corpse.

Hawke followed - _Of course_ , Anders thought - and delivered the dead magister a vicious kick to the ribs on his way by.

Outside, a crowd had gathered, and Guardsman Donnic was shouting for order. When Fenris saw the crowd he stopped suddenly, like a pursued animal that realized it had suddenly run right into the hunters; then without a word, shoved his way through the crowd and was gone. Hawke stared after him, eyes troubled, running the fingers of each hand along his own biceps as he did when he was nervous. There was no sign of Varania.

"Nothing to see here, folks!" boomed Varric, with that easy grin, moving up to join Donnic. Donnic treated him to a brief nod. Together, the dwarf and the guardsman were able to begin dispersing the crowd. Anders wished he had that kind of personal gravitas, the ability to exude a calming aura and an air of "Everything's under control!" even when it obviously wasn't. That was the sort of characteristic which made Donnic an effective guardsman and Varric an effective...well, whatever he was.

Anders didn't have that knack, at least in crowds (though he could soothe and calm a patient when it was warranted) and neither did Hawke, who was still staring after Fenris and all but vibrating with nervous energy. Anders, who was still on edge after the confrontation in the tavern, couldn't resist one more shot, despite Justice muttering at the edge of his mind. The idea that Fenris - _Fenris_ of all people! - was of mage stock was just too delicious, too perfect to pass up; and the thought (very fleeting) that for once Hawke might look Anders' way like he did the elf's barely had a chance to touch his mind before his mouth opened.

"Can you believe it?" he crowed. "All these years, whining about magic and mages and magisters, and his sister is one. Talk about protesting too much! It's been simple envy the whole time." Justice muttered again, sounding cautionary, but Anders ignored him.

Hawke turned and stared at him, eyes as brilliant as emeralds, and suddenly Anders wished he were somewhere else.

"What did you say?" asked Hawke softly. Anders gulped. He'd certainly received the rough side of Hawke's tongue in the past - they all had, even Fenris - but in his own case it had never been accompanied by that look of barely contained fury. He'd seen that look, of course; but it had usually been followed by a flung dagger or a thrown fist and on more than one occasion, had involved Fenris or Aveline or even himself hauling Hawke bodily off the focus of his ire.

Still, Anders had the strength of his convictions, and right behind "Mages good, Templars evil," just about the strongest one was "Fenris bad."

"You saw how it was in there," Anders snapped. "All these years he's been prating and posturing about magisters when all the time -"

Anders found himself backing up as Hawke stalked toward him. Donnic was still working the crowd, but Varric had sensed the impending explosion and was heading toward them, his face concerned.

"How dare you?!" Hawke spat. Anders backed all the way up against the filthy wall of the tavern and Hawke reached out and shoved his chest with the flat of his hand, holding it there. Anders had a moment of relief that it wasn't Fenris in front of him, since Hawke at least did not have the ability to shove that hand any further into his chest cavity, but looking at the fury painting the other man's face, he wasn't in that much less danger.

And yet - it was Hawke's hand touching him, finally; and even if it was violent, it felt like water in the desert.

"You call Fenris a hypocrite?" snarled Hawke. " _You_?!" He grabbed a fistful of Anders' coat and swung him around, shoving him bodily away and toward the remains of the crowd, which, noticing that there was something of interest going on, began disregarding Donnic's entreaties.

Anders stumbled backwards in the muck and fell to the ground on his back, his staff digging painfully into his spine, and struggled up to his elbows. Hawke advanced on him again, and Anders could only be thankful that the other man hadn't drawn a weapon yet. Varric was talking to Hawke now, trying to calm him, but knew better than to try and touch him in this state. _I'd touch him_ , thought a traitorous part of Anders' mind that wasn't involved in wondering how he could keep his friend from committing public murder. _That's part of the problem,_ grumbled Justice, and Anders pushed him away.

"You have the gall to call anyone else a hypocrite when you whine and moan about the plight of mages and yet you embody the absolute worst aspects of them?!" Hawke snarled. He reached down and grabbed Anders' robe in the front, dragging him to his feet, only to shove him again, send him stumbling back, although this time a couple of unemployed dockworkers or miners caught him before he hit the ground again. Hawke kept coming. Varric shadowed him with increasing agitation, but Hawke had eyes only for Anders. 

In all of Anders' fantasies, this was never quite how he'd envisioned finally gaining the man's undivided attention.

"You claim to be a healer but you kick a man when he's at his absolute lowest and take pride in it?!" Hawke's voice had risen to a shout now. "You're perfectly willing to let him defend you time after time but you can't keep your bedamned mouth shut for long enough to - to - " Hawke spluttered and drew back a fist. Anders closed his eyes - he'd seen Hawke deliver too many punches to believe he'd be spared - but then he heard Varric's voice, importuning; and opened his eyes long enough to see that the dwarf had caught Hawke's arm and was speaking quickly and urgently into his ear. Bizarrely, it occurred to Anders that Varric was the one person at whom he'd never seen Hawke lose his temper.

Hawke lowered his arm, but his face didn't change. The fury and contempt there was so raw that Anders wanted to close his eyes again and hide away, but he forced his eyes to stay open, and shook off the hands of the men who were holding him. Justice seemed to approve. Anders stood up straight, meeting Hawke's angry eyes evenly. Even now, his mouth wasn't going to let him off the hook. He ignored the eyes of the crowd on him, avaricious, hoping for violence.

"What do you care, anyway?" he asked, putting all the insolence into it he could. Hawke's eyes tightened, as did Varric's grip, but Anders continued. "What's he to you but another hired sword? If you need an elf, Hawke, Jethann will cut you a deal."

Someone gasped. Anders wasn't sure who it was, but it wasn't Hawke or Varric. Someone in the crowd was getting the show of his or her life.

"I care because you're my friend, and this is beneath you," said Hawke frostily. "I care because I've got all these - " and he literally ground his teeth in frustration for a moment - "expectations placed on me, and I need to know I can depend on the people around me. I need you to stop acting like mages are the only people in the damned world, because they aren't. And I need Fenris."

There was a bare moment of hesitation, and Anders doubted if anyone in the crowd save himself, Varric and possibly Donnic understood the significance...or that the words which came next were only a smoke screen.

"I need his sword. He's a skilled warrior." Finally Hawke took a step back, and there was a sigh almost of disappointment from the onlookers, who had been ready for blood.

Anders stared at Hawke, and Hawke stared right back. Hawke's eyes were as hard as glass, and try as he might, Anders could not find any sympathy in them.

This time it was Anders who took a step forward. "You deserve him," he hissed into Hawke's ear before storming off, and blessedly, Justice was silent.

***

Four days later, around midday, Hawke showed up at the clinic with a basket full of clean bandages and elfroot potions.

Anders saw him come in, but just nodded to a bench toward the back. Hawke carried his basket to it and sat, doing that rogue thing where he seemed to vanish without actually leaving. Although Anders availed himself of the bandages and potions during the afternoon, he didn't acknowledge Hawke and Hawke didn't interrupt him, seemingly content to watch from his bench while Anders healed mysterious rashes, unexplained bruises, inexplicable knife wounds that nobody seemed to be able to explain.

Sometime after dusk - which was sometimes hard to determine down here - the patients were gone, and Anders put out the lantern at the door and closed it behind him with a sigh.

He lifted his head to find Hawke's green gaze upon him. Oh, Maker, Anders thought hopelessly. Steeling himself, he searched that gaze. There was apology there, and fondness, and...little else. Maybe a tinge of regret. Or was that wishful thinking? Probably, said Justice. Anders ignored him.

"Thank you, Hawke," he said finally. "Those bandages came in handy, and the potions too, of course."

Hawke rose, stretching easily. Anders' heart caught at the sight, and that ache resurged again. He fought it down as best he could.

"You can thank Lirene for the bandages, and Merrill for the potions," said Hawke.

"Merrill?" asked Anders, with a raised eyebrow. "Help where help is offered?" responded Hawke, with a raised eyebrow and a slight amount of challenge. "She gets bored, so I find her things to do."

"I ... thank you, Hawke," said Anders, unable to meet those green eyes any longer.

Hawke stepped toward him. This time there was no violence or anger, but Anders had to steel himself anyway.

"Anders," Hawke said softly. "Look at me."

Look at him, commanded Justice. Shut up, Justice, Anders responded helplessly. He looked.

Hawke's face was kind, for once, and open. Those green eyes - the most beautiful Anders had ever seen - held something like sympathy. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."

Anders wanted nothing more in that moment than to fling himself at the other man, assuage this want he had carried for so long, but he sensed that the barrier between them was gone, only momentarily breached.

"You were right," Anders replied, finally. "I shouldn't have..." He didn't know what he shouldn't have done. Nothing about this conversation was going to change his opinion of Fenris, nothing was going to change, unless -

"Anders," said Hawke. His hand came up to touch the healer's cheek, just briefly. Anders thrilled to that touch, but he tried not to show it. "You're right," Hawke continued. "You shouldn't have have spoken to Fenris that way, and if you want to continue...associating with me, you can't keep doing it."

Anders closed his eyes. Reveled in that touch, so light, still stroking against his cheek. Hawke chuckled softly. "And I've asked Fenris to show more courtesy as well, if that helps."

Anders swallowed around a lump in his throat. "Thank you," he said, although the elf's courtesy was the last thing he needed or desired.

Hawke's hand fell away, and Anders felt cold. Hawke said softly, "I hope we understand each other."

Anders nodded. "Of course." Hawke nodded back. When the seconds stretched without either of them speaking, Hawke started toward the door.

_Do something!_ some part of Anders' mind moaned. _Don't do it,_ snarled Justice. Anders fought Justice down, and turned. "Hawke."

Hawke stopped, his hand on the door, and looked back at Anders. "Yes?"

Anders crossed the space between them and took Hawke's head between his hands. At last, at last - his fingers touched that brown hair, and it felt softer and silkier than in his dreams; at last, his lips met Hawke's, and they were sweeter than he'd ever dared imagine. For one endless, lovely moment, he lost himself in that sensation, in those lips, and Hawke didn't pull away or protest...but he didn't respond, either; simply let Anders plunder him for that one, long, perfect moment.

At last Anders was able to pull back, and breaking that contact felt like pulling away a limb. But when he looked at Hawke's face, what he saw was not love, but something very close to pity. He searched desperately for some hint of the want, the yearning which had been in Hawke's eyes when he said _I need Fenris_ , but it simply wasn't there. Anders stepped back.

Hawke regarded him for a moment, then, with infinite care, brushed his lips against Anders' own. Softly, chastely, without passion, as if to drive the lesson home. "You will always have my friendship, Anders," he said, against the mage's mouth; and then he was gone, vanishing through the door into Darktown like a shadow.

Anders wept that night, as he hadn't since he was first taken to the Circle, and Justice remained exquisitely, blessedly silent.


End file.
